


That Thing They Say About the Road to Hell

by AstroGirl



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Betrayal, Gen, Hurt No Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-12-21 09:27:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21072641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AstroGirl/pseuds/AstroGirl
Summary: Aziraphale can explain everything.  Everything is going to be okay.  When it's all over, Crowley will thank him.  All he has to do is have a little faith.





	That Thing They Say About the Road to Hell

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for Hurt/Comfort Bingo, for the prompt "betrayal." See end notes for spoilery content warning if you need one.

"So, Aziraphale. I imagine you're wondering why I called you back up here." Aziraphale wonders, not for the first time, whether Gabriel's ability to make his smiles simultaneously friendly and threatening is miraculous, or merely a cultivated talent. 

"Er, yes," he says. "I was, rather. Not to complain, of course, but I _was_ in the middle of something." If Gabriel keeps this meeting short, he might still get back in time to make the rare book auction. He _does_ hope he'll be able to obtain those volumes he's had his eye on. In the name of preserving human knowledge, of course, and while that might not be his assigned task, it surely must be a righteous one. Knowledge is valuable, and humans can't be trusted to keep such treasures safe forever.

"In the middle of something," says Gabriel. "And what would that be?"

"Oh," says Aziraphale. He's surprised by the question. Gabriel seldom seems to care very much about the details of his work. Or even the broad strokes, really, as long as the specific tasks he's interested in get done, and all the paperwork is filed correctly, and the miracle budget balances. "Just... you know. Routine operations."

"Uh-huh. Routine operations." Aziraphale hates it when he repeats one's words like that. It always makes them sound as if they mean something else entirely. "Funnily enough," he continues, "that's exactly why you're here. To discuss your 'routine operations'."

"Oh, well, of course," says Aziraphale. "Always happy to check in! Although I _did_ have a regular performance review scheduled in a few decades."

Gabriel doesn't appear to be listening. Instead, he's standing there with his hand held out, looking expectant. Michael strides into the room, hands him a file, gives Aziraphale a condescending look, and walks out again. Gabriel doesn't say "thank you."

"Oh," he says instead, "I think we're going to review your performance _now_." He pulls something out of the folder and slaps it down on the table between them. "Tell me, Principality." He slaps down another, and another. "Is this what you call 'routine operations'?" Another.

Aziraphale looks at the images spread across the table: 

He and Crowley in St. James' park, feeding the ducks, sometime in the early 19th century. They look relaxed in one another's company.

He and Crowley outside his bookshop. He's holding the door for the demon. They are laughing.

He and Crowley at the Globe theater. Oh, he remembers that day. The grapes were delicious, so fresh and sweet. He lost the coin toss for Edinburgh, and when he came back, _Hamlet_ was a runaway success. Crowley had refused to be thanked, but even his demon-yellow eyes had smiled at Aziraphale's appreciation. And he hadn't even liked the play.

Gabriel taps the final image. Aziraphale remembers this one, too, of course. It was barely a week ago.

He and Crowley sitting in a car, their hands on a tartan thermos as it passes from one of them to the other.

Aziraphale swallows. He looks at the image a moment longer, then up at Gabriel. "I can explain," he says.

"Can you? Can you really?" 

He can. He _can_. He'd always thought this day might come. He's ready. All he needs is the courage to tell the truth.

"Yes," he says. 

"Aziraphale, you gave a demon _holy water_!"

"Yes," he says, pleased by how his voice manages to stay almost steady. "I did. To use as a weapon against other demons. In case they came after him for helping me."

Gabriel looks at him, incredulous. "Helping you? Seriously?"

"Yes, seriously! He's been helping me for centuries. Millennia, really." And yes, all right, that's only half the truth. He'll admit to the other half if he has to, of course he will, but it's not _relevant_ right now. It's not what _matters_. What matters is this: "Crowley isn't like the other demons. Or perhaps demons in general aren't quite what we think they are. I don't know which it is. But he is... a _good person_."

Gabriel makes a disgusted scoffing sound.

"I know how it sounds, but it's true. There is no true evil in him. Mischief, at most. And he has no loyalty to Hell. He only obeys them as much as he has to. He doesn't like doing Satan's work. He gets out of it whenever he can. And he's _kind_. He does..." Aziraphale swallows again, thinking of _Hamlet_, of a bag of books, of children mysteriously gone missing before the waters of the Flood poured in. "He does such kind things."

"Wow," says Gabriel, and Aziraphale isn't sure if that's surprise at what he's saying or skepticism about it, but he keeps going. 

"Don't you see? We've all assumed, all this time that demons aren't... well, aren't redeemable. That that was Her plan for them. Eternal exile, because they no longer have a place here, with the righteous. But they _can_ be good. I've seen it! This one can, at least. If you talk to him, I'm sure you'll see it for yourself."

Incredulity is plastered across Gabriel's entire face. "Are you suggesting, are you seriously suggesting that this demon might be worthy of a _pardon_?"

"Yes!" Aziraphale smiles, a smile that radiates all his desperate hope and deepest conviction. "Yes, that is _exactly_ what I am suggesting!"

And oh, he knows. He knows that Crowley won't thank him for it. Crowley doesn't believe forgiveness is something he needs. But it's what he _deserves_, surely. To be allowed back into the Heavenly light, to be on the right side again. He'll get over his anger. He'll understand that it's what needed to happen, that it's for the best. Belonging to Heaven again will keep him safe from Hell. It will make him _happy_. 

And if he's angry about it at first, well, Aziraphale will... will buy him lunch. They'll be able to eat together anywhere they like. He's certain they will. Heaven won't waste someone with so much knowledge of Earth and the Enemy's operations on Earth. They'll send him back down into the field. On the right side. On the _same_ side. They'll be able to work together, in the open, with no fear of being seen together, with no reason not to call each other "friend." Or... or anything they might want to call each other.

Perhaps they can obtain lodgings together. That would be efficient, wouldn't it? 

"Oh, _Aziraphale_," says Gabriel, and now he almost sounds pitying. 

Aziraphale looks him full in the eye. "Talk to the Almighty. Please. Ask _Her_. Let me... Let me explain it to Her. To everyone."

"Do you even listen to yourself?" says Gabriel. But even he has to accept that the question of whether demons are redeemable is above his pay grade. He must. "Ugh," he says finally. "Fine. I'll ask."

Aziraphale feels fear and tension melting from him, fast enough that he feels dizzy. "Oh, thank you. Gabriel, _thank you_."

"Where is the demon?" Gabriel says.

And Aziraphale tells him.

**

He's been waiting here for quite a long time, now, in this empty white room where Gabriel told him to stay. There are no refreshments, no books, no music. Well, it's probably just as well. It gives him time to practice what he's going to say. 

He should take a careful approach, he's decided. Formal and respectful, but passionate and firm. "Gabriel," he tries out, his voice swallowed up by the emptiness of the room. "Most Holy Archangels, assembled Host..." Will God Herself put in an appearance? She's been so hands-off for so long, but for this? She _must_ show up for this. It could be the most important thing to happen since the Garden. The most perfect opportunity for Her to bestow Her divine grace, to remind them all of Her love and the power of Her mercy. And if demons are redeemable, if they can be brought back into the fold, the implications are immense. Perhaps there need never even be a War.

Yes. Surely She will be there. Aziraphale starts again. "Almighty Lord, Gabriel, Most Holy Archangels, assembled Host, I stand before you to speak on behalf of the demon Crowley..."

He's gone over the speech a hundred times, polished it, revised it, perfected it until there is nothing more to be done, by the time Gabriel finally returns.

"Oh, thank goodness," Aziraphale says. "Did you find him? Is he here? Did you speak with the Almighty?"

"Wow, so many questions," says Gabriel. "You'd think _you_ were the one in charge here." He lets out a hearty, false laugh. "Yeah, we spoke with the Almighty. Well, the Metatron. Same difference, right?"

Aziraphale feels a flicker of dread somewhere in the back of his mind. He pushes it aside. The Metatron speaks for God, and God is all-merciful. To doubt that would be unworthy of him. Why, it would almost qualify as blasphemy. "I see," he says. "Will the Almighty be coming to the hearing, then? Or will the Metatron?"

Gabriel blinks. "Hearing? What are you talking about? What hearing?"

"For Crowley. I'd thought there would be a hearing of some sort. I prepared a speech."

Gabriel waves a hand. "Eh, there was no need for any of that. It's been decided already."

"Oh!" Aziraphale's heart leaps. "Oh, really? Oh, I'm so glad to hear it. I'm sure he's been difficult to deal with, but once it all sinks in for him, he'll be grateful, I know he will. Where is he? I'd like to talk to him, if I may."

"Who?" Gabriel looks genuinely puzzled.

"Crowley," says Aziraphale. "I'd very much like to speak with him."

Gabriel snorts. "Sorry, it's a bit late for that. There's not really much left to talk to. Unless you enjoy conversations with puddles of melted goo."

In the back of Aziraphale's mind, something is screaming. He wonders why. "I'm sorry? I don't understand."

"God doesn't forgive demons, Aziraphale. That's why they're _demons_."

"I... I don't... Sorry. What?" There must be a mistake. He must not mean...

Gabriel shrugs. "I gotta say, I can see why that one gave you so much trouble. He was a scrappy little fucker. Put up one hell of a fight. If you hadn't told us right where to look for him, he might actually have gotten away. Of course, having the holy water right there helped, too. He even pulled it out of his safe for us! Guess we weren't who he was expecting."

There is a roaring in Aziraphale's ears. He wonders where it's coming from.

"Geez," says Gabriel. "He really did get to you, didn't he? Wow. I mean, I know he had a reputation as a tempter – _the_ tempter, even – but to try it on an angel? That takes some balls. I'd almost have to admire him if he weren't, y'know, a disgusting fiend." 

Aziraphale can hardly hear him. He can hardly stand.

"He really thought he had you all sewn up, too," says Gabriel, hearty and cheerful. "Kept calling out your name, even while the holy water was dissolving him. Like he thought you'd come and rescue him. Like he thought you weren't still on our side."

Distantly, Aziraphale hears himself make a noise. It's a terrible, terrible noise.

Gabriel claps him on the shoulder. "Hey, buddy, you did the right thing helping us find him. It's okay." He almost sounds sympathetic. Aziraphale feels his human body trying to retch. 

"Poor bastard," Gabriel says. "You really were down there too long, weren't you?" He squeezes Aziraphale's shoulder. Aziraphale shudders, trying to throw him off. He doesn't want to be touched. He doesn't want anyone else to touch him, ever.

Gabriel just squeezes harder. "Relax, Aziraphale. We're not gonna send you back. You're home now. Take some time off. Enjoy the comforts of Heaven. Because don't take this the wrong way, but you look like you could use it."

Something is wrong with Aziraphale's face. He reaches up a hand to touch it, and it comes away wet. 

Gabriel gives him a look of disgust, then slowly, effortfully transforms it back into the sympathetic smile again. "Yeah, you _definitely_ need to spend some time among your own kind," he says.

He lets go of Aziraphale's shoulder. Aziraphale can still feel his grip.

"I do," he says. "I do. I need my own kind."

If only he'd realized sooner who that was.

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilery warning: major character death.


End file.
